


Shake Off The Shadows

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Bunker Sex, Butt Plugs, Come Sharing, Comeplay, M/M, Massages, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 05:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13757682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: Cheap drug store massage oil can go a long way to mending the subtly broken.





	Shake Off The Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> *shrugs*
> 
> Written because late season bunker porn and boys softly loving each other.
> 
> And also because B0RNS makes me gayer every time I listen to it. That's it, that's all my reasoning. As always, my thanks to the brain trust of Kat and Rizzo for encouraging and looking over the bits I sent them as my confidence in finishing it started to leave. Y'all are indispensable and I love you <3

            Why the hell the line at CVS is eight deep at 10:41 in the morning in the middle of rural Kansas is beyond Sam’s reasoning.  In a county of less than 4,000 people, Sam would think he’d be the only person in here.  Hell, nine out of ten times he _is_ the only person here.

            Just that today, everyone needed Tylenol and a candy bar at this exact moment.  Sam’s got his arms full of gauze, sutures, and rubbing alcohol, not to mention the full basket already at his feet.  He’s got a pretty good handle on it, but he’s going to have to kick the basket to the checkout counter if he wants to get out of here without dropping anything.  The girl behind the counter – Tiffany – has gotten so used to seeing Sam come in here and buy out the entire stock of first aid stuff that she doesn’t even bat an eye anymore – and Sam is easily the tallest person in line right now.

            The little old lady at the front finally puts her wallet away and moves on, and Sam moves one step closer to getting to go home.  In all truth, they don’t need a damn thing he’s got in his possession right now; he’d just wanted an excuse to get out of the Bunker and away from Dean’s… silence.  It’s been fucking weird between them the last couple weeks, enough to where Sam can’t get anywhere close to a read on him, which is even weirder.  Them not being in sync like that, reading each other’s thoughts with so much as a look – it’s not been there.  They’re down to sex twice a week, and that is the biggest fucking red flag right there.

            And even after that, Sam doesn’t stick around.  Something about the situation screams “thanks, but I need space” and Sam certainly isn’t going to begrudge him that.  It’s not the first time this has happened, this tacit need for their own time but it’s the longest it’s lasted.  They’ve spent so fucking long in each other’s pockets that it feels weird to _not_ constantly have Dean in his space.

            The line shifts up again and Sam moves with it, mind turning over just what the hell is going on right now.  Maybe it’s because Mom showed up, left, showed up again at Asa Fox’s funeral, and then has been maintaining radio silence ever since – and that was months ago now.  It’s the first week of March, so that’s what, five months since they last spoke?

            Yeah, Sam can maybe understand why that’s making Dean broody, but they’ve been dealing with this Mom stuff by not really dealing with it.  Status quo, there.  And yeah, Lucifer walks among the people of Earth yet again.  That… explains a lot of why Sam’s been willingly spending that time by himself too. 

            It’s not just Dean who’s lost in his own head right now, Sam realizes.  They need a hunt, something long and hard and demanding, something to get them out of the house and streaking across America.  Maybe somewhere in Florida, or Maine, as far away as possible from Lebanon as they can get.

            Sam pushes his basket with his foot and smiles at Tiffany as he moves closer.  Sam thinks back over the last month, putting together the snatches of conversation, the worried looks, the frequent “hey, Sam, you good” questions Dean’s been asking and…

            Hell, Dean’s worried, and Sam hasn’t been doing much to reassure him that yes, he’s okay as he can be, no Lucifer isn’t waiting to snatch him back again the second Dean’s back is turned.  They’ve so heavily warded the Bunker since they moved in that sometimes Castiel has trouble getting in.  Oh and there’s that too – Cas is off with Crowley on some weird fucking supernatural buddy cop thing, and that’s more than enough to weird them both out.  More power to Cas, Sam supposes, but consorting with Crowley like that is dangerous business.  Of course, they’ve struck so many bargains and God knows what else that at this point the King of Hell is basically an honorary Winchester.

            Not that he’d ever tell Dean that.  The less they do to deliberately piss each other off, the better, and Sam can imagine the monumental anger Dean could unleash on him if he ever uttered those words.  He shoves that hypothetical, Cas, and Crowley aside, more worried about getting home to sit and think with at least a glass of brandy.

            “You know, you can special order all this stuff, Sam.”  Tiffany starts to ring their supplies up with the practiced quickness of someone desperately trying to make their job a little more interesting.  “Instead of clearing the shelf every time you come in.”  She smiles at him, genuinely.  Sam can’t help but return it and picks his basket up off the floor.

            “Yeah well then we wouldn’t get to stand and chat.  Better this way.”  She’s pretty, in a small town girl sort of way.  Sam liked her the moment they met, the first customer that day to buy surgical tape to try and hold together a banshee bite that Dean has sustained on a hunt.  “And you know I’ll always be back for more.”

            “Good thing you’re cute, Sam.”  She smiles at him again and Sam pulls out his wallet to pay her, only for a rack of bottles that wasn’t behind the counter on his last visit to catch his eye.  “Hey, Tiff, what’s that?”

            “Leftovers from Valentine’s.  Massage oil, bubble bath, romantic stuff that no one in this town’s gonna buy.”  She looks up at him when she notices Sam staring intently at the massage oil.  “Unless you’re considering doing exactly that.”

            “Uh… yeah, maybe.  What’s the massage oil?”  Sam’s formed half of a ghost of an idea, and he’s going to have to act fast if he doesn’t want to talk himself out of it.

            “Dunno.  Says it warms under the touch, makes you and your partner relax.  Feel like you can do that with whiskey.”  Tiffany hands him a bottle and Sam uncaps it, taking a whiff and turning his head away quickly.  “It’s peach.”

            “Probably why we didn’t sell any.  I’ll throw it in for a dollar if you take it, that way I can at least say we sold some.”

            What the hell, it could be… something.  Maybe.  “Give me two.”

            In the car, Sam pours a drop out into the palm of his hand and rubs it around, noticing that for one, the scent isn’t nearly as strong when it’s on his skin and two, it does indeed warm to the touch. 

            That ghost of an idea solidifies a little more, and Sam starts his twelve minute journey home.

            It’s been ages since he’s had a massage, and Dean gives damned good ones.  His back is in knots from sleeping in his own bed (unable to get comfortable without Dean wrapped around him like a vine) and the fact that he’s thirty five fucking years old and gets tossed into walls and gravestones by things with twenty times his maximum strength.  It hurt like hell when he was twenty five, yes, but now it takes longer to recover and well, Sam hates it some days.  Your mid thirties are for celebrating a decade of mortgage payments and maybe your sixth wedding anniversary, not feeling like he’s a hundred and stiff upon waking in the morning.

            Yeah, he craves a massage, and he needs Dean to be the one to give it to him.

            Provided Dean wants to, of course.

            Dean is in the kitchen making a second pot of coffee when Sam walks in, plastic bags clutched in his left hand and his keys still in the right.

            “Hey, Sammy.”  Dean pats him on the shoulder as he walks by to toss out the used filter.  “Buy ‘em out again?”

            “Yeah, and Tiff ribbed me over it.  Did you know they can special order this stuff for us?”  He sets the bags down on the table, trying to remember which one she had stuffed the massage oil in.  Better to spring that on Dean when Sam’s ready to, rather than Dean find it himself. 

            “Eh, too much trouble.  You get lube, too?”

            Sam pauses – it hadn’t even crossed his mind, considering they haven’t been going through it at nearly the rate they used to.  Well, still do.  Yeah.  “Uh… no?”

            Dean shrugs, stuffing a fresh filter into the pot.  “Just wondering.  Down to our last bottle, and I thought uh… maybe when you got back from the store…”  His focus becomes razor sharp on getting the grounds into the pot without spilling them, trying hard to not acknowledge Sam and yet do that exact thing at the same time.  “You know what, forget it, I was… I don’t know.”

            “Dean, hey.”  Sam closes the space between them until he’s close enough to get a strong whiff of Dean’s hair gel.  “Something on your mind?”

            Dean doesn’t look at him, but does turn towards him.  “Feels like something’s wrong, Sam.”

            “Wrong, like you think something big is coming wrong, or wrong with…”  Sam gestures between them, letting the implication stand for itself.

            “Just haven’t been sleeping for shit, is all, y’know?  Too much goin’ on up here.”  Dean taps the side of his head and starts to pour water into the coffee maker, and Sam moves another inch closer.

            “Yeah, I do.  Because of Mom?”

            “Mom, you, everything, it’s… it sucks, man.  I know that it generally does, but lately… it’s been worse.”  Dean hits the start button on the pot and it’s not thirty seconds before the kitchen is filled with the smell of fresh coffee.  Mixed with Dean’s warm scent, Sam can’t help but lean against the counter right next to him, up close and personal.

            “What do you mean me, Dean?”

            “Feels like you’re pissed at me.”

            Sam has to stifle a laugh of amusement, shaking his head.  “Why would I be mad at you?  Kinda complicit in all the stuff you just listed, so it’s not like the rap sheet’s attached to just me.”

            “I mean… we… we haven’t been sleeping together, Sammy, and I thought it’s cause you’re mad at me.”  Dean’s trying to be forward with him, and Sam can tell it’s taking every bit of courage his brother’s got to face it.  They’ve never been good at this sort of thing, and Sam has to fight down the urge to punch himself.

            “Dean, no, that… no.  Look, all that?  That’s what’s been going on, with me.  Too much, right?  I was giving you space, giving _me_ space.  To handle it.”  Man, they screwed up on this one, didn’t they?  Then again, it’s classic Winchester.  Talk about it by not talking about it.

            “So it’s not because you’ve lost interest or because Tiffany is uh… better?”

            Sam does laugh this time, not only because he fucking needs to but because Dean’s got as overactive an imagination as he does.  “Dean, Tiffany is nineteen and doesn’t have a clue about who the fuck I am or where I come from.  Just the guy that comes in and buys all the gauze.  You… did you really think I was sleeping with her?”

            “Sam, c’mon – you’re hot, it’s… possible.  And some girls are into that, being with an _older guy._ ”

            Sam hugs Dean so tightly that it takes Dean completely by surprise, his body shaking as Sam laughs into his shoulder.  “Since when did I become an older guy, Dean, huh?  That’s _you,_ not me.”

            “I swear to God if you have a daddy kink after this, you…”  Dean doesn’t say anything back, just wraps his arms around Sam and hugs him back, the relief so plainly obvious that Sam’s pretty sure that Dean’s knees are shaking.  He wants to pick Dean up and take him to his bed, lay him out, and kiss him stupid.

            “No, Dean, I don’t.”  He lets Dean go, looking at his brother with every bit of admiration and love that he can possibly muster in that moment.  “I could if you wanted me to, just for a little while, but anything after that would have to be negotiated.”

            “You’re a sick bastard, Sammy.”  Dean grins and shoves his chest, probably more to feel him up than actually cause harm.  “Yeah, that’s hypocritical, but a daddy kink?  That’s only hot in porn and under very specific circumstances.”

            “Yeah, I’m the sick one, Dean.”  Sam reaches for Dean’s hips and pulls them together, eyes flicking over Dean’s body.  “But I did pick up something you might be interested in.”

            “The drug store finally start carrying those little pies, the bite size ones?”

            “No.”  Sam reaches for the bag with the massage oil and fishes out a bottle.  “I thought maybe if you weren’t busy you could uh, touch me.  Like, _touch_ me.”

            Dean’s looking at the bottle with growing interest, uncapping it and taking a deep whiff.  “Peach scented, really?  You know, Sam, if it weren’t for the huge dick against my leg right now…”

            “You’d call me a girl, I know – but that’s all they had.  And it’s not as bad out of the bottle as it is in it.”  Sam squeezes the bottle so that just a drop leaks from the top and rubs it between his fingers for Dean to smell.  “See?”

            Dean sniffs, wrinkling his nose.  “Think it might need a second opinion.”  This time when Dean looks at Sam, there’s definitely a heat there that Sam’s sorely missed.  “You aren’t busy right now, are you?”

            “Weren’t you the one making plans?”

            “Just saying it might take a while, is all.  There’s a lot of you to massage.” 

            Holy Christ Dean’s lips are pink right now, the same shade as the best sort of small town diner pink lemonade.  “Can’t think of anything I’m doing today.”

            “Mmm.”

            Dean cups the back of Sam’s head and nearly swallows Sam’s tongue when he kisses him.  He tastes like syrup and coffee, warm and inviting, better now because it’s been so long since Sam’s kissed him simply for the sake of kissing.  Dean backs himself against the counter and tugs at the open neck of Sam’s flannel, angling his head so that Sam’s tongue can slide deeper into his mouth.

            It’s overwhelming to the point of Sam getting hard very fast, and he knows that Dean can feel him against his thigh.  Dean doesn’t make a move for him, so Sam lets it be, stealing the taste of his mouth for a little longer before they have to break for air.

            “Wanna come to my room, Sam?”  Dean’s fingers are in his hair how, strands threaded between his fingers like he’s spinning gold.

            “Lead the way, Dean.”

            Dean’s fingers tangle with his own and with another long, smeary kiss, Dean pulls Sam behind him, kissing him again when they’re inside with the door shut.  Sam goes for Dean’s neck this time, scraping his freshly shaved stubble against his jaw throat, taking it slow so that he can listen to Dean moan and whisper his name as he lights up every hot spot he can find.

            The road map of Dean’s body hasn’t changed all that much in the twentyish years that they’ve been doing this, and while the scars can be new and the bones may not be in the same place as they used to be, Sam knows the path better than his own self.  The place behind Dean’s left ear that drives him wild when Sam kisses it, or the insides of his wrists, scarred with lacerations yes but still so, so sensitive that the silk bonds they use sometimes are enough to have Dean gasping the moment Sam loops them around and ties him to the bed.

            Sam renews his fervor and starts to unbutton Dean’s shirt, eager for them to be skin to skin as quickly as possible.

            “Shit,” Dean swears.  “Left the damned oil in the kitchen.” 

            “Want me to…”

            “No – you? Naked, face down on the bed.  Think there might be a couple candles in the chest down there if you want to light ‘em.”  Dean slips out of Sam’s embrace with no small amount of disappointment and beats it to the kitchen, adjusting his boner along the way.  Sam chuckles at his retreating back and does as he’s told, stepping out of his boots and pulling his socks off as fast as he can without falling, jeans and underwear shoved down in pile together.  He’s gotten fast at buttons (he got tired of having to find them the morning after when Dean just straight up ripped his shirt off) and his flannel is gone a second later, t-shirt off the moment he hears Dean’s footsteps coming back up the hallway.

            He’s not quite face down when Dean appears in the door way, but he’s damned close.  The little sound of delight Dean makes at the sight of his naked, stretched out body makes Sam’s inside heat up, taking an extra second to grind against the mattress as he finds the best position. 

            “Still a little overdressed, aren’t you?”  Sam hugs Dean’s pillows to his face, inhaling the scent of sleep sweat and his brother’s shampoo.  “Not fair that I’m the only one naked.”

            “Just let me enjoy the view for a second, will you?”  Dean strips off fast, just out of Sam’s line of sight.  “Because god _damn_ it’s nice.”

            Sam makes his glutes clench and relax along with every muscle in his back, letting Dean see all the definition he’s been gaining lately.  “It’s yours to look at any time you want, Dean, you know that.”

            “Yeah, Sammy, I do.”  The end of the bed dips as Dean gets into position, skin brushing against skin with little electric jolts.  “Really should have had this little chat sooner.”

            Sam sighs with happiness when he feels Dean’s weight settle on his thighs, his cock half-hard and his balls loose where they make contact with Sam’s ass.  “You gonna rub me down sometime this week or simply perv on me for the next hour?”

            “You know, Sam, in your position I don’t think you can give too many orders right now.”  Dean leans down and kisses the back of his neck, almost all of his weight bared down on the top of Sam’s back.  “And don’t say you aren’t at least a little into this.”

            “Oh, I’m very into it – but if you try _anything,_ just…”

            Sam has to take a second to find the right words, pushing back against several millennia of sexual torture at the hands of the Devil himself, a lot of which has been in this exact position.

            In the seven years since Sam rose from the dead, soul ripped and tattered, he’d bottomed twice for Dean.  Both times had ended in Sam being so massively triggered that it had taken a lot of resolve to get Sam back into any sort of normal, functioning sexual activity.  Dean doesn’t even smack him on the ass as he walks by too often these days, even though his intentions are completely different.

            Sam wishes it hadn’t happened, truly – he loves everything about getting his ass eaten, played with, another instrument in Dean’s masterful hands – or at least he used to.  Dean was never much for topping him, but anything he could to make Sam moan and beg for more?  Yeah, Dean was hot on that shit.

            He shoves all of that aside as fast as he can and turns his head for Dean to kiss him.

            “Promise I’ll give you a heads up, Sammy.  Just remember there’s not another soul in the place except you and me.”  Dean’s voice is so full of reassurance and confidence that Sam has to swallow against a wave of emotion, kissing Dean until he feels their souls start to touch (it happens more and more regularly now, and Dean fucking knows it just as well as Sam) and in a minute, Sam’s relaxed enough to turn his back to Dean and let him do what Sam asked for.

            Hell, at this point what Sam would _beg_ him to do _._

Sam plants his face in Dean’s pillows and exhales, flinching just the tiniest bit as Dean pours massage oil between his shoulder blades.  It’s just this side of cool, enough that it makes a very sharp contrast with just how warm his skin feels right now.  Dean has him heated, and he only grows warmer when Dean pours right down his spine and stops at the small of his back, a single, long line of peach-warm oil nestled perfectly in his muscles.

            “How’s it feel?”  Dean lays the bottle aside and grasps Sam’s hips, hands strong and rough against his skin.  Sam has to take a second to form a reply, sinking very fast into just how fucking close he feels to Dean right now.

            “Uh… ask me again in a couple minutes.”  Sam doesn’t try to stop the moan that slips out of him as Dean’s thumbs start to dig in, starting at the base of his spine and working slowly upward.  He’s mostly interested in getting the oil spread around, his fingers gliding across the broader expanse of his shoulders and midback.

            It’s already starting to get warmer.

            “Doesn’t smell nearly as strong out of the bottle.”  Dean’s voice is a low, somewhat distant rumble, an accent to the touch he’s giving Sam rather than the main feature.  “Still don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to smell peach again without getting turned on though.”

            “Pretty sure I had the same thought.”  He shifts back against Dean’s body, seeking warmth that isn’t going away and to give his now very interested cock just a little bit of friction.

            “Just remember, it’s your fault.”

            Sam starts to grumble right as Dean grasps the base of his neck and screws his thumbs in, starting work on the first knot.  His retort dies, replaced by a groan that he sincerely hopes Dean will interpret as grateful.  Dean repeats the same maneuver, and this time Sam gets even louder.

            “Not often I get you naked and moaning under me, Sammy – I kinda like it.”  Dean tests Sam’s deltoids, fingers sliding effortlessly over Sam’s skin.  “Jesus, Sam, feels like you’re holdin’ in enough anxiety for about ten people.”

            “Kinda my job, isn’t it?”  If this is how they’re going to have this conversation, then so be it.  “Thought I was doing a pretty good job at keeping it together.”

            Dean doesn’t say a word for a moment, letting his fingers do the talking as he sets to ironing the tension out of Sam’s shoulders.  “Guess I may have had something to do with that, huh?”

            “Not just you, Dean.”  Sam turns his head and opens his eyes halfway, aware of Dean in his peripheral vision.  “Call it a lifetime of utter crap that doesn’t fucking go away, no matter how much I try to make it.”

            “Don’t think I haven’t tried to do the same damn thing – forcing it just makes it worse.”  Dean digs in against a particularly hard knot, right between Sam’s shoulders.  “But I know what you mean.  I know you’re spooked, Sam, with Lucifer… y’know.”

            “Among us again?”

            “Yeah.”  Dean leans down and kisses him right above his ear before settling back even closer to Sam.  “I’m scared for you, baby boy.”

            It’s a testament to just how bad things are when Dean admits it out loud like that.  “I’d do it again, too, Dean.”

            “Do what?”

            “Jump back into hell to save you.”

            Dean’s hands go still, not because he’s mad at Sam, no; because he knows it’s true, and that very likely he’d do the same for Sam.  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that again, alright?”

            Sam pretends to not here the choked, thick note in his voice.  “Your hands feel really fucking good, Dean.”

            “Yeah?”  Dean rubs slow, easy circles up to Sam’s neck and then all the way back down to his lats, fingers leaving slow-burning fires that make Sam’s spine melt.  “Not too rusty at it?”

            “You could pretty much name your price, if you wanted to.”  Sam can already feel the last couple weeks slipping away with every assault on the tension in his back Dean unleashes, starting to lose some of the coherence in his field of vision.

            “I could?”

            “Am I really in a position to argue right now, Dean?”  Sam can feel his guard coming down, and that interested ping in Dean’s tone is difficult, to ignore, to say the least.  “Not that I was going to anyway but…”  Dean could probably suggest most anything right now and Sam would agree in a heartbeat.

            Seriously.

            Dean’s hands drift lower and lower, focusing on Sam’s lower back.  “You been sleeping okay?”

            “Not really.”  Sam closes his eyes again and thinks about letting his exhaustion take him, and just… wake up to Dean still there – but his body’s been responding way too strongly to what Dean’s doing to him to neglect it for too long.  “Kinda sucks doing it alone.”

            “I know.”  Dean’s nearly at his glutes, thumbs skimming over the tops before they move back upwards, digging deeper and deeper into Sam’s flesh.  “Swear it’s not you, Sam.”

            “Didn’t think it was – we can normally fix that kind of not sleeping together.”  Sam brings his right arm out from under the pillow and reaches back to touch Dean’s thigh, drinking in the warmth of his brother’s skin with his palm and fingers.  “But if we’re both tired of sleeping alone…”

            “Yeah, Sammy, we aren’t leaving this bed for a week.”  Dean sounds deadly serious about it, and Sam can’t think of a single reason to disagree.  “Or yours, whichever one you like better.”

            “Perfectly fine right here.”  God, Dean’s hands are fucking _magic,_ and Sam would honestly give him money or… whatever.  A blowjob, rimjob, tuna steaks cooked to perfection – honestly, _whatever Dean wants._ “And you still haven’t named your price.”

            “Thought you were joking about that.”  Dean’s hands go to his ass again, cupping him with both hands.  “But there is one thing.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Mmm.”  Dean rubs the insides of his thighs, dipping down to tug at his balls for a moment before going back up to his ass.  “Been wanting to eat you out for a while now.”

            Sam waits for his body to shut down, tell him to flee and not let Dean anywhere near his ass – only the response never comes, and his brain offers up _think about how good his tongue feels on your cock, Sam.  You know it’d feel even better down there._

Shit, Dean’s going to get to do it, isn’t he?

            “Okay.”

            Dean stills, like doing so will allow him to hear Sam better.  “You sure?”

            Sam picks his head up and looks right at Dean, licking his lips.  “Yeah, Dean, ‘m sure.”

            Dean surges forward and kisses him so deeply that Sam’s convinced his tongue reaches his tonsils.  Dean’s cock slides against his ass, teasing and rubbing, making Sam think a lot about how the fuck he can talk himself back into doing… more.

            “Hold still, baby boy.”  Dean kisses him right down his spine, slowly, scraping his stubble and lips over hot, sensitive flesh.  The anticipation all by itself makes Sam’s cock leak, trapped against his stomach and the bed.  He squirms, trying to move out of the puddle made by his own precome, and finding no relief gives up, quickly distracted by the proximity of Dean’s mouth to his hole.

            “You shave back here, Sammy?”  Dean’s rubbing his thumbs over the cleft of his ass, spreading him apart and huffing warm, damp breath over him.

            “N… no, does… no.” 

            “You’re smooth.”  Dean rubs his chin against his hole, making Sam shudder.  “Really, really smooth.”

            Sam reaches behind himself and pushes Dean’s head in, knowing good and well that Dean would end up teasing him far longer than Sam is interested in.  Dean’s tongue is on him in a minute, hot and perfect and _wet._

“Don’t fucking stop until I tell you or I swear you’re not getting laid for a month.”

            Dean nods his compliance and then proceeds to disassemble Sam lick by lick.

            Sam’s body has long forgotten just how fucking good it feels to be eaten out, to be the full and utter attention of Dean’s mouth.  Those fucking perfect pink lips against him, kissing and worshiping him between licks, making Sam feel far more important and worthy than any concept of himself he’s put together.  Dean blows him with nothing but complete focus, when it happens; this is far more intimate, something that Dean and _only_ Dean has ever done.  Yeah, his past hook ups have swallowed him, kissed his dick and wound up with a face full of come as a result but not one other person has ever gotten this with Sam’s consent.

            Sam may as well tattoo “property of Dean Winchester, don’t even fucking look at it” on his ass and make sure that anyone else damn well knows it.  Dean does it so well that there’s no point in letting anyone else even get close.

            With the way they’ve settled into each other over the last couple years, Sam’s thinking that no one else will.  Roving eyes and hands are one thing, yes, and roam they do still sometimes.  But this, right now?  That’s all them, something that not another soul on the face of this earth can even begin to try and replicate for them.

            Sam feels every swipe of Dean’s tongue right on down to his soul, heating him from the inside out, making him write and beg and try to push back even harder against Dean’s sweet, sweet mouth.  Every single growl Dean lets out makes a million more goose bumps break out over his skin, brings Sam to the brink and nearly shuts down his ability to form coherent thought. All he fucking cares about right now is Dean’s tongue, wonderful and sexy and incredible, breaking him down to his core elements and for a short, blissful while, destroying him.

            He can feel the spit dripping down his balls, hear the soft, lust-charged breaths Dean’s trying to contain.  “Swear to God you’re the best fuckin’ thing I ever tasted, Sammy.”

            “Didn’t tell you to stop, Dean.”  Sam’s fingers are still tangled in his hair, refusing to let Dean go.

            “Just need a second, is all.”  He sucks on Sam’s balls in the interim, licking and cradling them with his mouth and tongue, amping up Sam’s desire to an even more insane level.  Sam breathes in deeply to keep himself together, the air laden with the smell of sex and artificial peach.  His sweat rolls off of him, commingled with the oil dripping off his back and sides.  He tries not to shy away from it, not when Dean isn’t anywhere near done ruining him.

            Or so Sam tells himself – he’s ready for more, and it certainly isn’t that Dean is doing a bad job, just… Sam’s _body_ needs it.  Needs Dean.

            Except Dean isn’t going to do what nature is screaming at him, not until he’s sure Sam is in the right head space for it.

            “Moan awfully pretty when I’m back here, Sammy.”  Dean licks him out a little more slowly, letting Sam catch himself.  “But I got something that might make you even louder.”

            “You have my…”  Sam has to swallow and clamp down on his arousal to finish his fucking sentence.  “You have my undivided attention.”

            “Good – don’t move.”

            From where he lies on the bed he can’t see what Dean’s digging out of the top drawer of his dresser – not that he can fucking move much right now anyway.  His body is all pleasant, warm slush, and if he ends up turning over at any point soon Dean’s going to have to help him.  He tingles from his scalp to the bottoms of his feet, his hole wet and his back slick.

            “Not goin’ anywhere, Dean.”

            Dean comes back a few seconds later, kissing up Sam’s back until he’s back at his mouth, gripping Sam by his shoulders and flipping him so that he can rest against him, cock to cock, getting tangled and wrapped up in Sam’s embrace.  Sam tastes himself on Dean’s tongue, not at all bad and far from the worst thing he’s ever shared with Dean.  Dean wraps his fingers around both of them and strokes, not so much to get Sam off as to keep him interested.

            In what, exactly, Sam is dying to find out.  Whatever it is that Dean has could be from anything from special lube to cuffs, and truth be told Sam is fucking _ready_ for it.

            Dean sits back and cradles Sam’s face, his eyes soft and golden green.  “I’m gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, Sammy.”

            “You haven’t been already?”

            “Nah, I’m just getting warmed up.”  He kisses Sam again and reaches under the other pillow, bringing out a bottle of lube that Sam doesn’t recall seeing before.  “Do you trust me?”

            Sam nods, watching Dean.

            Dean picks up a black silk bag from the foot of the bed and out of it comes a black plug and small controller.  “Is that…”

            “Yeah, it is.  Bought it for Valentine’s Day but since we weren’t exactly speaking to each other at the time, I kinda forgot about it.”

            Sam spreads his legs and hooks the back of Dean’s neck with his right foot and pulls him forward.  “You’ve got me now, Dean.”

            “I know.”  Dean can’t help but kiss him again, and Sam buries his tongue in his mouth once more. Every fucking kiss makes him beat himself up for not just fucking addressing whatever the fuck it is that was going on between them.  He cants his hips up towards Dean’s lube slick fingers, doing his best to come off as inviting and ready for him.

            He’s more disappointed than he was expecting to be when Dean takes his fingers out of him and leaves him empty – only for it to evaporate a second later when Dean lodges the plug in him, stretching and filling him nicely as he re-settles himself between Sam’s legs and rubs his thighs, bringing Sam one more further measure of comfort before he starts his sweet, blissful torture.

            “How many settings does it have?”

            “All of ‘em, whatever you want, Sammy.”  Dean picks up the control and turns the plug on, the slightest, most subtly pleasant vibration making Sam’s entire body sing.  “But if you want me to stop, then-”

            “Don’t you fucking dare.”  Sam reaches down and tries to push the plug further in, cock jutting up in the air and leaking steadily.  Right as he starts to stroke himself, Dean dials it up another notch and Sam has to take his hands away, punctuating the air with sharp, brittle moans, overloaded with sensation and dopamine and a million other things his brain is screaming at him to feel more often.

            “Why don’t you just enjoy the ride and let me take care of this.”  Dean wraps his fingers around Sam’s cock and strokes him very, very slowly, pulling his foreskin down and rubbing at the sweet spot just behind the head, circling his thumb over it again and again until Sam is flat on his back and trying to fuck Dean’s fingers.

            Alright, fine, he’s putty in Dean’s hands.  Dean _needs_ to take care of him, and Sam needs to be taken care of.  Easy, right?  Something they’ve done a million and one times in their life and will keep doing.  Yeah it’s about sex right now, and that’s glorious – but this is about _them,_ the fundamental needs that both of them are never, ever doing to be able to change.

            But Jesus _Christ,_ Dean’s fingers feel fucking amazing right now, working his magic on his dick like he’s got no other purpose in life right now.

            “Don’t think you’ve leaked this much since I wore panties and one of your shirts around the bunker one day – remember that?”

            “Fuck, Dean, how can I fucking forget?”  Sam’s fingers are gripping the headboard, his body stretched and on display for Dean.  “Not every day I come home from a grocery run to that.”

“Could if you wanted to, Sammy.”  Dean’s working him with both hands, the plug turned up a little more, buzzing torturously good against Sam’s too-long-neglected prostate.  “Fuckin’ love turning you on like that.”

            “Why… fuck, Dean, rub my slit again, yeah, just… _fuck, like that…_ why don’t we worry about this right now?”  Seriously, Sam’s brain can only handle so much at one time, and Dean’s giving him a whole lot of material to work with at the moment.  Dean looks a pure vision of sex and seduction right now, naked and sweaty, his cock bobbing in sympathy with Sam’s between his legs, leaking just as copiously.  Yeah, Sam can throw Dean around and fuck his mouth and ass and do all of the things that his brother absolutely _loves –_ but nothing is going to turn Dean on more than turning Sam on, and right at the moment Sam is _extremely_ grateful for that.

            “Not really a worry.”  Dean works him a little more quickly, able to tell just how close Sam is getting.  “Think I might start playing with your ass more often if it’s gonna make you squirm so pretty for me.”

            “Keep doing what you’re doing and I might let you.”  Like hell if Dean would let him get away without reciprocating – how many times has Dean begged Sam to let him ride his face? – but yeah, it feels pretty fucking good and maybe if Dean does it enough, memories of what he suffered in hell will slowly be replaced by his sexy big brother pulling him apart, lick by lick or… whatever.  With vibrations.  Lots and lots of them.

            Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking this clearly right now, should he? 

            Dean turns the plug up more, loud enough that Sam can hear it over the sound of his own breathing.  He clenches around it, trying hard to grind and get more but Dean’s got him to where he can’t.  Every time the callus on Dean’s trigger finger bumps the corona, he gets much, much closer to orgasm.  Between his brain being fuzzy from the fucking superb massage and the instrument of evil buried in his ass, he can’t be expected to hold out for much longer.

            “Shit, Dean…. I… fuck, I’m close.”

            Dean licks his lips and bends down, keeping both hands going on his dick, his upper hand twisting slightly, milking him while the other goes low and cups his balls.  “You gonna be mad if I swallow?”

            Sam doesn’t even bother with words, fixing him with his best _you’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ glare.

            His brain fries the second the head of his cock disappears into Dean’s mouth, sucking him just hard enough to outdo the plug.  Sam actually feels the floodgates break inside him, the hot, pleasant rush of ecstasy dumping itself into his blood stream as he fills Dean’s mouth, screaming Dean’s  name and cursing whatever he can think of because it’s too good, too much, never ending and completely cathartic.

            Dean swallows the last drop and lets Sam go, his mouth shiny with spit and leaking come.

            “Fuck, Sam, that was… that was so fuckin’ _much_.”

            The raw, fucked out sound of his voice makes Sam’s body try to do more than he can possibly manage right now, gesturing for Dean to come towards him.

            “Isn’t fair if…”

            Sam just opens his mouth and hoods his eyes – Dean gets the message and scrambles to sit on Sam’s chest, working his cock while Sam cups his ass, not at all mad that Dean almost completely misses his mouth and shoots all over his face instead, hot, thick ropes of come that would look completely fucking perfect on camera somewhere.

            Kissing the mess up until Sam’s licked clean is almost enough to make him forgive Dean for leaving the plug – still on – inside him for so long.

            Two hours later, they turn right around and while Sam’s cock is fucking magic, according to Dean, absolutely _nothing_ can beat the look on Dean’s face when Sam keeps it high vibration for twenty minutes straight and watches his brother come apart with nothing but Sam’s fingers playing with his tits.

            The shadows are still there, yes.

            But Sam feels like he’s finally starting to see past them.

           

           


End file.
